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About Vathelan

Cat walked up the stairs toward Vathelan's office, surveying the damaged hall with awe. "Holy moly.. the hell happened here?" She said to herself. The death knight wore black armor, stained here and there with specks of fresh blood. She knocked on the office door. "Sir?"
"Come in." A tired voice called from the door.
Cat walked in and shut the door behind her. "Sir!" She practically yelled. I have so many things to tell you!"
Frostwhisper looked up from a pile of paperwork, only smiling-- If only ever so slightly-- when he saw his visitor. "I would hope so. And... I am glad you have returned, I was afraid I would have to track you down. " He snaps his fingers, his mana feeding his wards once again.
"Of course I came back, I was worried at first but I guess they didn't think it was worth hunting me down.. you know what happened, right?? That guy they were feeding me from went ballistic! He broke us both out and ran off!"
"...Do you know who he is?" His eyes told he very much did, as he stared into hers.
Cat blinked, caught off guard. She shook her head. "No. He was this big guy, like really big. Everywhere. We had to escape naked, so believe me, I won't forget that anytime soon.. who is he?"
"Please, have a seat." The Magister spoke calmly as he started to mess with his Glass Scroll. "I must remind you that our conversations as Classified."
"Sure sure.." she sat down and fidgeted in her seat. "I came back here to talk to you before, but you were gone. Then I went to my room and someone had been in there, looking through my stuff.. oh, don't worry, I didn't write down anything about my missions or anything like that, but, it spooked me so Kreyen and I went somewhere to celebrate Winterveil and.. oh yeah, he said he saw you, when I was running around with naked guy! I'm sorry if he got upset with you, he was worried about me.. and oh yeah! Guess what?? We're engaged! Isn't that crazy??"
The Magister flipped the Glass Scroll so that Cat could read the article. The headline read 'Lord-General Visca, decorated war hero of the Order of Eversong killed in action during the Liberation of Orgrimmar' the picture would be of the same elf, in full blood knight armor with a Shattered Sun Offensive shield raised high. "Was this him?"
Cat raised her eyebrows in surprise. "..woah. yeah, that's the guy. He was a Blood Knight? I didn't know.. but.. it says he died?" She looked confused. "Is he like me, then?"
"He was a personal hero of mine. And the reason I pushed for the formation of the Shattered Son Project. We tried to heal him... but..."
"But he's fine," Cat said quickly. "Better than fine, he was running around fighting like a pro. Believe me, that's not easy to do when you're naked, but he did it."
"Because of what we did to him." Vathelan speaks quietly.
The death knight cocked her head. "Whadid you do?"
"Fleshcrafting, Necromancy, Augmentations, among other things. I am not... proud, that I helped set this in motion." He sighs. "But... he was our best bet for the Legion. And we knew it was only a matter of time...."
Cat leaned forward in her chair. "But they put his blood in me. They used my axe on him. What does that mean??"
"Ideally it will permanently alter you into a more favorable state, no?"
"Well sure, but these changes.. I mean, I'm pretty much alive again, aren't I? A few days after I got back, I had this massive period, it was seriously like my uterus just decided to explode! Is that normal??"
"I... wouldn't know?"
"Well, what about the rest of it? It's like, I heard them talking about how they wanted me to reproduce, but now it's like all I can think about is boning and killing, is that part of it too? Does that Draco guy feel the same way? I'm pretty sure I caught him with a crazy awkward boner, but running can do that sometimes."
"I... wait. What? He was..." He thinks on this a moment with a 'Huh'. "...I thought that theory may have been a bit far fetched."
"Which? About the boners? Seriously, it was not comfortable running naked with him like that. I'm pretty sure he could knock someone out with that thing."
"The concept of fertility, this is... amazing." Vathelan tapped his finger upon his chin. He was torn between the description and the implications.
"So does that mean I can have kids, then? And if that's the case... if I did, what would it mean for them? Would.. the Scryers wanna study them or something? Would they come out like me, or Draco?"
"This... is new ground. I cannot say for certain what is possible and what is not. While I am sure such a phenomenon would be something worth study them, we also would want what is best for the next generation."
"So what do they want from me, now? I wasn't planning on escaping or anything, but that Draco guy was kind of... hard to say no to? I followed him, and they said to use lethal force and I panicked. So far, nobody's come after me? So what do I do, now?"
"Well... we have a few options."
"What... kind of options?"
"They're after him. Did he... give you a way to find him?"
Cat frowned. "..sorta, but.. he kinda.. I mean, he trusted me not to tell the Scryers. You're one of them, sir."
"I am also probably his best resource. He could use us... if we wish to lend aide, of course. "
Cat looked down uncertainty. "...I don't know, sir.. seems kinda wrong of me to betray his trust.. don't you think?"
"You're not. Actually.... come. A visual representation will prove more useful." The Magister stood from his desk and started to head for the door.
Cat stood and followed Vathelan. "If you say so...."

From the sweet oblivion of a much required rest, a vain attempt to forget what had transpired that night came the sudden rancid odor that brought him back to reality. An involuntary cough sent the sharp pains like daggers through his chest once more, he gasped for air as he tried not to scream from the agony of his wounds—only to force more of that horrible smell of herb into him. His eyes would shoot open, looking for the source, only to find a set of glowing green lights staring back at him.
“Awake at last,” the baritone voice mocked from above him. “I was beginning to get impatient.”
He must have dozed off, and judging by the pain in his ribs, it was unlikely a medical professional—this ‘Josie’—had yet to see him. The young man blinked his eyes, trying to get them to focus. Slowly, thanks to his glasses still being firmly upon his face, the dark room slowly began to pain its portrait in shades of dark grays, blues and blacks. All of which had the same fel-green glow providing what minor illumination from each set of their eyes. The first thing he would notice was how the light bounced off the intruder’s facial structure. His features looked as if they had been soft once upon a time, but weathered by some sort of constant strain. He was bald. A very strange thing for an elf.
“Are we not speaking?” The bald man smirked, “The Director said that we would have to ensure that your silence was guaranteed, it seems you’ve already learned your lesson.”
The stench, he tried to place it. His mind started working through its catalogues… Bloodthistle, there was a case regarding that while he was under apprenticeship of Magister Arcalos. Why was Raeventus employing Thistleheads? His eyes tried to look for more clues in the dark. The outline of his robes, was he another Inquisitor sent to torment him? He held something in his hand, something of lighter color. Looked like cloth. A towel?
“Heh. Either way, I was sent to bring you a gift.” The thistlehead moved to take something out of a bag. A bottle about the size of a foot in height, maybe five inches across? Within it the liquid had a faint glow as it swirled within its container. “We thought you may need it after your hard day today.”
Frostwhisper’s eyes followed the movement of the bottle, trying to use its faint light to gain more details. His fingers were long, spindly. The additional light seemed to confirm his fears of the man’s occupation. His robes fit the uniform of the Inquisition. Even now he could feel the shiver down his spine, as his mind pieced together the implications of their work. He also noticed that the robes seemed a little too tight on him compared to his experiences with Dawn. The cloth he had seen earlier proved to be a reddish color, seemingly still damp. He’d raise an eyebrow before finally speaking, “…What is it?”
“Oh, so you do speak. Good. It was getting boring talking to myself, like speaking to a wall.” He lifted the bottle, “Isn’t it obvious?”
The Magister gave a quick shake of his head. The low light made it hard to make out many of the details, his inquiring mind trying to figure out how long the man had been here. What the intruder could have done to him while he slumbered.
“It’s alcohol. Something special we have been cooking up.”
“I don’t drink.”
“Well then, in case you decide to. We feel we may have gotten off on the wrong foot.”
The Inquisitor began to rise from his seat upon the bed. The glow from his eyes hardly moved from the same height they were previous. This would make him short. Not only that, it would mean his body was disproportionate. His torso must be bigger than his legs. Something for him to file away for future use. Still, Vathelan Frostwhisper said nothing, deciding that potentially provoking his intruder was likely the worst move to make.
“But I have delivered my message and you a clearly exhausted and in need of medical attention from your heroic defense of this fair city… something our allies, the Sunreavers, can use as a foothold back into the city. I will leave you to your swift recovery, we have much to do.”
The Magister said nothing, only watching as he awaited the intruder to at long last leave him be. And still so many questions nagged at the back of his head. This was only accentuated as the short, bald man who smelled of Bloodthistle stood at the door, his fel-green eyes moving to look back at him.
“If you ever need anything, Magister Frostwhisper, know we have eyes and ears everywhere. We’ll be waiting.”
“I-I understand, Inquisitor.”
“Good.” The voice sounded amused as the shorter man opened the door, allowing the light from outside to pour in for just a moment—revealing the Stern Faced Sun upon the bottle of alcohol before once again being almost entirely consumed by the darkness. “Rest well, Magister Frostwhisper. You have a lot of work to do.”
Vathelean Frostwhisper would not get a chance to respond, the room once more dark as the door once again was locked into place. Despite the advice, the young magister would find no more rest for that evening, only able to allow his ever increasing exhaustion to claim him once the sun had once again risen to banish away the horrors of that night and allowing those below to better keep watch.

…And within the very next moment, the famous floating city blinked right back into existence. In nothing more than a couple beats of the heart, the entire city had teleported leagues upon leagues away. From the southern reaches of the Eastern Kingdoms to a set of islands so far north that they neighbored the roof of the world, the spell had worked. As with any normal teleportation spell, the world would slightly displace to accept the new occupant of that particular space—the problem was with such a large target, the astronomical amount of variables that could go wrong in such calculation for such a spell made the likeliness of perfection a delusion. Anyone who was close to Khadgar during the conception of this plan had the slightest warning before they had attempted such a feat. It was a horribly dangerous plan, the amount of things that could go wrong… well; just pray it wouldn’t be of your concern.
And had Magister Vathelan Frostwhisper known, perhaps he would have simply been thankful that the consequences of such a thing weren’t more dire for him. To keep moving, the dulled pain from his frost and the exhaustion threatening to claim him at any moment, he had come to lean on the wall for support. And in the move, between the energy making things slightly incorporeal for ease of transfer and a fraction of an unaccounted for variable in the spell—the shoulder of his robe’s cloth had fused with the wall. Something Vathelan was not aware of until he took his next step. The resulting pain that wrecked through him thanks to his ribs from the way his Scryer uniform gripped at him would be as if an ogre had decided to give one a bear hug. The young magister opened his mouth to give an involuntarily soundless scream, not even his frost magic had the power to numb it enough.
The pain was so overwhelming; it threatened to send him into shock. His framed eyes looked, longingly so, at the door to the Ledgermain Lounge that was not more than just a few feet from him now. He thoughtlessly formed a shard of ice within his hand, coalescing the humidity around them until he had enough to create it, focusing his small concentration on making the edge facing away from him as sharp as he possibly could. The result would be an improvised knife made out of nothing but ice, one of which he would use to start trying to slice away at the cloth… each movement rewarding him a sharp agony, that built further upon what already threatened him sending him closer and closer to the verge of shock.
The makeshift blade would continue its sloppy but relentless assault until the threads of the Scryer uniform’s shoulder finally gave way—never had he been so frustrated with such fine tailoring! But, as it seemed this night would go, it came with a cost. An instant after the flushing victory of freedom, came the biting frost of the shard and the warmth of his blood that flowed from the resulting injury. The heat of the blood ate away at the edged ice almost as if acid, but that didn’t really matter as he tossed the shard onto the ground as this time he was verbal in his grunting pain. With his now free hand it was all he could do to grip at his shoulder, feeling the heat of the blood—almost like magma upon his chilled skin-- as he stumbled the last bit towards the door of inn. The momentum and lack of ability to function fully would result in a loud thud on the door of the Lounge’s door. One, to his luck, they answered.
Vathlean could hear the grinding of wood against the door before it opened, his ear so close to the entrance as he lay upon their steps. His breathing was ragged and despite his efforts, he could feel his life fluids draining from him upon the stone. As such he was thankful when the door opened, and he heard in his native tongue, “What the Fel happened to you?”
The young Magister was being lifted up to his feet, his mind racing as he tried to find the best way to explain what happened without breaking his non-disclosure agreement. He couldn’t be sure this man wasn’t a spy for Raeventus… or—his heart sank when he was at eye level. Those blue eyes filled the young man with so much distrust, even more so than the Director did. He knew what they were responsible for, what he himself narrowly escaped. Perhaps more than the man did himself, considering he saw the aftermath. Even still, he knew how horrible an idea it was to spit in the face of a man who could be his potential rescuer. So instead he came up with a lie that seemed wholly reasonable, “…Demons?”
“They really messed you up!” The Quel’dorei looked over the man again before taking Vath’s arm and throwing it over his shoulder and dragged him inside. “You’re one of those Heroes then? That helped save this city before The Six cast that spell? Anything we can do to help you? You really look like hell.”
“…Need room… and medic….” Vathelan wheezed in pain, the frost spell quickly wearing off. If the Quel’dorei thought he was some sort of hero that saved the city, and if it got him a chance to rest and get medical attention, Vathelan would be a fool to correct him, even if the magister planned on paying for such regardless.
“Of course! Of course!” The man looked over to the woman checking their inventory, the chaos seeming to be something a bit more manageable now. “Amisi! Key to Room Six, and then go get Josie. This man needs medical attention.”
The human female raised a brow at the two male elves for a moment before nodding, pulling a key off the rack behind her and handing it off to the Quel’dorei. She gave him a quick peck on the cheek before running off.
The High Elf male took the key before leading the perceived hero up the stairs, careful with each step as he was wary of the haggard breathing from the man. “I’ll admit… had my doubts about letting you guys back in after that whole fiasco… but… you guys still rushed to our aid, can’t help but wonder if Proudmoore was wrong….”
“She… was.” The Magister managed to speak. “I was once… in the Sun—Arg!” A misstep forced a wave of anguish to rip through him again, leading to the Quel’dorei to apologize in rapid succession before trying to coax him to continue up the stars. They would move even slower up the stairs, his breathing becoming more labored. “I… can’t. I don’t know… if I can.”
“If you can fight the Legion a few stairs are nothing!”
The Magister’s face twisted in what luckily was mistaken as physical pain rather than the conflict of lying to this man who was being so kind to him. “…How close?”
“We’re almost there. A few more steps, you can do it Mister…?”
“Frost… whisper.” The Magister breathed out. “Magist…er… Vath…elan… Frost… whisper….”
At last the dreaded stairs were over. Now came the trial of the hall, littered with items from the rapid departure of Dalaran from above Karazhan. Though, in comparison, this was much easier. “We’re almost there, Magister Frostwhisper. As you were saying?”
The Magister thought for a moment, trying to remember their conversation. Then it struck him. “I was… a Sunreaver…”
“…I’m sorry for your loss then, Mister Frostwhisper.” The barkeep’s voice went solemn as he remembered that day, and the violence he read about in the papers that erupted from the former leader of the Kirin Tor and the leader of the Silver Covenant’s decision to purge the city of them.
“Magi…ster. Magist…er… Frost… whisper.” Vathelan corrected, beaten as he was, he tried to hold on to what little dignity he had left.
“My apologies, Magister Frostwhisper.” The barkeep accepted the correction as he shifted the man’s weight as to better access the door to Room Six. His movements were gentle, careful not to cause the man any more pain as he guided him towards the bed. “Rest well, Magister.”

Magister Vathelan Frostwhisper, in these final moments of awe before a legend in the flesh, had come to forget where he was. Despite their rocky reintroduction, he knew he would come to cherish this memory… the greatest man he would ever know, bared raw before him in his rebirth, something he had taken no small part in. He smiled a grin most genuine, one that rivaled when someone so wonderful had agreed to take him up upon an offer to get to know him better…
…But such moments would prove fleeting. And somber reality once again took hold as soon as the blast door once again, separating the young man from his idol. It happened so fast. In a flurry he would find the world around him enveloped in darkness. He found himself falling. A metallic fist slammed into his cheek bone. A boot greeted his chest. And his wrists were once again cuffed.
“What the fuck was that, Frostwhisper?” That dreaded voice once again filled his right ear, “What was my command?”
From the bag over his head he could give a sharp cough before answering. “Which?”
He would be rewarded another sharp kick to the chest. Vathelan was sure he felt something crack this time. That wasn’t good.
“He was to understand his new place in the Hierarchy, Frostwhisper. He died. The man legally has no rights, he is Scryer Property now. Our property. And to lead him on these delusions of grandeur? That, Frostwhisper, is cruel.”
Vathelan had learned his lesson, it seemed, for he did not speak a word. He only coughed, hoping that blood would not come up with it. He felt them lift him up, one set of arms upon each side of him. He would not fight it. He had hit his limit today; he wanted the suffering to end… preferably with his life still intact.
“ It seems you are learning. Good. I do hate repeating myself over what should be painfully obvious: So I expect to only have to tell you this once. Do you understand?”
Vathelan would hesitantly groan some sort of acknowledgement that he heard him.
“Excellent. To be thorough, let us begin with a review: Project Shattered Son and anything related to him or the resources used are Classified. Well beyond your clearance level, to leak such information to Anyone would be considered Treason. Do you remember what happens to traitors, Frostwhisper?”
“…Reeducation.” Vathelan spoke through the pain, he was being dragged elsewhere in the Complex. To where, he couldn’t be sure. He took another breath and continued. “Lord-General Visca deemed that our population as a species was far too few to justify conventional methods of Capital Punishment…”
“Correct, we prefer the method of Reeducation. But Lord-General Visca is dead; I am in control now—”
“Rayfeather…”
“Irrelevant. In time, he too, shall be brought in line. But I digress… We are speaking of what happens should you violate your Non-Disclosure Agreement: I will ensure that before you are killed, one way or another, that you will Suffer for your Treason against the Scryers. Where you have treaded, death will follow. I will burn down the entirety of House Visca: His wife, son, brothers and niece… all of them will pay for your trespass. I will erase Sanctuary from existence. I will bomb Dalaran out of the sky, I will return their last bastion of hope in Orgrimmar back to the ashes from whence it raised from. I will imprison your little friend… the Arath’dorei girl, she will learn the truth of you, she will learn why she will be brought to her fate was because you couldn’t keep your mouth shut. And then you will Beg me to end your life, what I will do to you once I am done will become a merciful killing, have I made myself clear?”
“Please… no…”
“Have I Made Myself Clear?”
Vathelan was silent for a moment; he wondered how much of this was possible. The horrors that Raeventus spoke of played through his mind… and he quickly decided that he had no desire to test his luck, to tempt the man to try any of these things. “…I-I understand Director.”
“Then perhaps you are not wholly hopeless after all.” Vathelan could swear he could hear that smug smirk on his face from his tone, which shifted almost without warning. “Now that we have sorted out that unpleasant matter, we can focus on the business at hand. I am sure you are wondering where my men are taking you.”
Vathelan did not respond, instead he took the couple of seconds allotted for a response to try to alleviate himself from the taunting within his ear. Having everything you care about threatened as if were nothing was quite unwell for the psyche. And he didn’t want to get an Evaluation and accidentally slip on what he knew… resulting in such threats being a reality.
“We have had reports that your Subject is on the move, and we have yet to receive your Tactical Analysis Report on them. The Seer still desires to know if they will be a boon or a hindrance to our cause. Either way, we must make preparations… preparations we need that intelligence for.”
“Wait…” Almost on cue, they stopped dragging him along the ground. The shackles would be unlocked and they would begin to raise him to his feet. “…That doesn’t explain where I’m going?”
“Dalaran.” Rather than hearing the smug voice of Magister Raeventus in his ear, the voice reverberated from behind him. The hood they had put upon his face was ripped off and a foot was set to his back and kicked him forward. Before Vathelan could ask any more questions, the bright lights of the Translocator would fire and the scenery before him changed from the frosty installation, to the worn torn streets of a city usually so full of wonder. Mana seemed to be coalescing towards the centre of the city.
Magister Froswhisper began to try to navigate the city that had turned into a battlefield for safety, his breathing haggard from the pain in his chest. “CITIZENS OF AZEROTH.” A famous voice bellowed, one of Archmage Khadgar… a notable one time denizen of Shattrath. “TODAY IS THE DAY WE TURN THE TIDE.” Intelligence reports had made mention of his return of the Kirin Tor, even that he was leading it… It spelled hope for the Sunreavers, allies of the Scryers. “TODAY IS THE DAY WE RE-TAKE OUR WORLD.” Vathelan placed his hand to his chest, channeling frigid temperatures t o help alleviate the pain of his cracked ribs; he had to keep moving to find shelter. “AND SEND THE LEGION BACK TO THE HELL THAT SPAWNED THEM.”
There would be a surge of energy that was released from whatever it was the Kirin Tor were doing. “OUR PATH IS CLEAR.” Vathlean began to lean on the walls for support, his eyes spotting a place of promised refuge: The Legerdemain Lounge. The flash of light would consume everything in its path, including the walls he leaned on and even himself. He was familiar with this kind of spell, though not at such a large scale… a teleportation, but to where? “THE PILLIARS OF CREATION AWAIT. ON THE BROKEN ISLES!” On the war-front, Vathlean should have known. He would have cursed his luck… but for a brief moment, all of Dalaran and its people would blink from existence…

Despite the blood that coated the giant’s hands and arms, it provided no lubrication to grant Magister Frostwhisper any reprieve from the vice grip upon his throat. His own hands weakly tried to pry at the fingers that ensured his entrapment as his head swam from the sudden force into the stone wall behind him—what was starting to very likely to become his forgotten tomb if he couldn’t figure a way to calm the enraged giant before him. His eyes watered, and his lungs felt aflame from desire to cough… only for the air to be denied passage. As Vathelan tried to choke out his answer to the question, something as simple as his name, he would realize the futility of this effort. In a few moments he would pass out from lack of oxygen, and then die from strangulation… he had to think fast.
The Glass Scroll! His eyes went wide for a moment in realization, darting behind the furious tower of glowing flesh before him… only to have his heartbreak as he saw that particular one had shattered in the tussle. A dead end. His brows furrowed, trying to ignore the edges of his peripherals beginning to fade. Not much time left.
Very well, he had another Glass Scroll in his bag! One of his hands started to slink towards his ever trusty satchel he wore slung around his shoulder. Only for his assailant to grip his wrist as tight as he had his throat and slam it against the wall in front of him.
“No.” The former Lord-General snarled. “Hands where I can see them.”
That… put a dampener on that plan. The magical energies that still coursed through his attacker’s body seemed as if they threatened to burn Vathelan’s neck. Time was running out, he needed air. His next attempt out of this situation was a blink spell. He would be able to breathe and talk again; he could then explain the situation. He started to summon the mana for the spell…
…Only to be rewarded with an even tighter grip on his throat, “Final Warning.”
The Magister complied. Not that he really had much of a choice. His vision was starting to darken now, his panic starting to rise in spite of himself. His mind was racing for a way to explain himself in this predicament. Nothing was coming to him.
“Your Name, Mage. What is it?”
He tried to gasp for air, to state his name for the man… but still nothing came out. His panic starting to raise further, his eyes going to the grip at his throat. Why wouldn’t he let him speak? The Mage fruitlessly tried to pry the fingers from his neck again. Nothing happened but the continuation of soaking his gloves in blood… And then it clicked. His fingers went towards the man’s forearm that burned from Vindicator’s workings inside him. Quickly he started to scrawl with the blood:
‘F-R-O-S-T-W-H-I’…
The young Magister couldn’t be certain how much or even if he had succeeded in continuing to telegraph his message upon his attacker’s arm before his he began to pass out—the effects of asphyxiation finally becoming far too much to bear. As he drifted back into consciousness, the first thing he would notice was the smell of iron permeating all around him as his body shuddered from his violent coughing… and yet his head remained pinned. He couldn’t see, something darkening his glasses… but he wouldn’t hear the voice of the man from the vial until his coughing subsided.
“You are awake. Good.” The former Lord-General’s voice echoed upon itself once more. “You and I are going to play a game. I am going to ask you questions, and you are going to answer them. Be truthful, and I shall let you go. Lie to me…” His grip tightened upon the Magister’s skull. “…And I shall splatter your brains upon the wall before me. Do you understand the terms?”
The mage tried his best to nod, obviously hindered from the man’s grip. In fear that it wouldn’t be enough, he spoke… the taste of metal upon his lips as he did so. “Yes, Sir.”
“Very well. We shall start with my first question: What is your name?”
“Vathelan Frostwhisper.”
“I see you wear markings of my command. Rank and Service History.”
“Magister, specifically I work as an Agent of the Scryer Asset Protection and Acquisition division. I have a Glass Scroll in my bag, allow me to bring up my file and that should certify my credentials.”
“Get it.” The late Lord-General commanded. The Magister was slow in his actions to prove he wasn’t a threat. One arm was raised where it could be seen as the other gently slid into the satchel to pull out the pane of glass the size of a cover of a tome. His movements were so slow and deliberate as he did so.
“I would be happy to access it, but I’m blind at the moment. May I clean my glasses?”
“You may.”
“Thank you, Sir.” The Mage took off the framed eyewear, and cleaned it on a spot of his robes he hoped wasn’t splattered. Though his vision was blurred without them, at least he could make out a few shapes. When he placed the glasses back on, he was well aware of the blood splatter from the vial leading to them. The Lord-general was injured, this was not good. He was also without clothes, his body’s glow starting to die down… he had a distinct lack of scarring.
But such thoughts would be shattered as he was handed back the Glass Scroll. “Access it. I do not have my Emblem with me.”
The Magister nodded as best as he could as he took the Scroll. “O-of course, Sir.” He gently pried off one of his cufflinks and set it to the right hand corner of the pane of glass before removing one of his gloves to use his thumbprint as a signature. With a quick few taps upon the Glass Scroll, he accessed the classified version of his own file. He then handed over the Scroll for the other man to see.
For a moment, the mage was granted a reprieve from the intensity that radiated from the harsh cerulean energy from his eyes. “Nethergate…” His voice mused before the lights were upon his captor again as his lips twisted into a brief cruel grin. “Remind me, Vathelan Frostwhisper, what was your assignment upon the Nethergate base?”
“I was a Data Analyst and Research Assistant as per your orders sir.”
“Correct.” His lips began to fade back into the resting scowl as his eyes went back to the man’s records. His voice became less harsh, “I am glad you survived the backlash, Frostwhisper. Do you have a casualty report?”
“You were the only Unacceptable Casualty. We lost an estimated eighty percent of our remaining prisoners when we had hit the last call for evacuation of the facility. Most of them Non-Quel’dorei.”
“Unfortunate, but acceptable.” The grip upon the Magister’s skull started to loosen. “Were we able to halt the discharge from hitting the original target?”
“Yes sir. The forces on the ground were able to apprehend Hellscream.”
“Then my death was not in vain.” He relinquished his hold on the trembling mage, “What of my brothers? How did they take the news?”
“…As well as can be expected Sir. Shaken, but they remained resolute in our duty to our people.”
“Good. And… did you ever find my wife?”
“Just recently, Sir.” He gave a small sigh, “She was… unaware of your fall in the line of duty. She has put on a brave face as she tries to carry out your Legacy, but… I have seen indicators of high amounts of stress. I believe she mourns your loss greatly.”
“That was not her burden to bear any longer. She ensured that.” He spat bitterly, his back turning to the Magister at this report. So cold and dismissive, Vathelan lowered his head… his gaze noting that there were no scars on the back of his form either. But the display of physical power was elegant, years in the working… it was an art much worth appreciating as the flickering lights and shadows threatened to censor such in spite of the still faint illuminations from his primary arteries. “…Son or Daughter?”
“…Pardon?”
“She carried my heir to term, did she not?” His voice still resonated a bitter fury. “Did she give birth to my Son or My Daughter?”
“Son, Sir.” He was quick to answer. “His name is Draco Gladius Visca Junior. He looks just like I imagine you would have, Sir.”
“…Well that is something, then.” The bitterness that was so prevalent now seemed to be wholly absent. “Do they know that you brought me back?”
“No sir. This was a secret military project, I do not think even the Seer knows about this.”
“You have a lot to learn about our leader, it seems.” He looked back at the Magister. “But keep it that way. Better we not cause my family any more harm than we already have. But… I fear this brings my second question of origin. What have you done to me?”
At this question Vathelan averted his eyes, the voice in his ear once more returning. “Well Frostwhisper, what are you going to tell him?”
“As you know… you were killed in action at Nethergate.” The young Magister could feel himself trembling, both from the deathly frost that seemed to not affect his hero and the sheer terror of the news he was to deliver. How did one tell someone they were now nothing but a weapon for their people? “By the power vested in the Scryers by the Vanguard Initiative Act—“
“Stop. I understand where this is going, I wrote that Act myself. To think it would come to apply to myself…” Another short but bitter chuckle came from the giant’s throat. “…I will read about the process later, it would seem we have bigger problems. In order to utilize the Act to such an extreme, that would require a state of emergency. Tell me, Magister Frostwhisper… What threat do we face for me to require me to return?”
“The Legion, Sir.”
“Is that so?” Visca raised a pale brow. His voice sounded almost amused by this news. “Who would have thought a Black Dragon could be telling the truth? To be fair, while we knew they were coming and that I had noted the possibility, I did not expect them to appear so soon. I am looking forward to reading those reports.”
“He is taking this better than I had expected…” The voice whispered in his ear. Vathelan would smirk at such a comment, but it was short lived; as the next line quickly made him once again uncomfortable in his current predicament. “…That being said, he does need to understand his place in the new hierarchy.”
“I will… uh… get you what Intel is relevant to your position, Operative Shattered Son.” He eyed the man in hopes such a thing would not threaten his life once more.
The ‘Operative’ would turn to face the mage again. “Is that so?”
“Tell him he is to remain on standby until we can find a handler for him for his missions.”
“There are… many factors we still need to consider with your revival. It was a highly experimental process, you are the first success we have been granted. We need to test your abilities and ask that you sit tight as we find a handler capable to enable you.”
“No. We are wasting time, I do not Need a Handler, Magister Frostwhisper.”
“My apologies, Operative. This is standard procedure as it was written within the Vanguard Initiative Act, of which you admitted that you wrote—Sir.”
Vathelan could see the fury building up in the Shattered Son’s face. He wanted to console him, but he knew that this standard procedure was to followed as the Director had commanded. A few moments passed before there was an audible sigh from the man, “…Very well. But do not tarry, the longer we sit around, the more lives the Legion consumes… including those of our own people.”
“It appears you have survived the jaws of the Dragon, Frostwhisper. Well done.” The voice sneered within his ear. “Excuse yourself from the room and you will be dismissed for the time being. We have more work for you elsewhere.”
“That is our intent, Operative, Sir.” Vathelan gave a small bow before heading towards the door. At the entrance, before he paged them to grant him access to freedom he looked back. “And Lord-General Visca… Welcome back to the world of the Living, Sir.”

Ninety-Six Percent. Magister Vathelan Frostwhisper had lived through the harrowing events of the fall of Quel’thalas, and to him, this may very well be the most terrifying thing he had ever had to experience. Despite his best efforts, he could not merely stare at the Glass Scroll handed to him that monitored the process of what was going on. No, before his very eyes, a man of legends once again stirred within his vial. First his breathing mask had erupted into an explosion of air bubbles, a little worrisome, but they needed to be sure that his lungs worked properly. He would shove the idea out of mind, which was of course, until the Arcane Intelligence designated as Vindicator started its full body synchronization check. It was here when the Shattered Son of Quel’thalas began his violent thrashing.
“Please… just a little longer…” Vathelan’s voice cracked in his attempts to coo; to the man in the glass or himself, it was impossible to be certain.
“Do you really think he can hear you in there?” And then there was this asshole, taunting him with his ear. “Or better yet, even if he could, do you think he would Care? For all we know we are ripping him away from his loved ones in the afterlife.”
The young Magister gave a small sigh; he was at a loss of words. While Director Raeventus may have had a point, the verbal abuse lost its effectiveness twenty percent ago. Now, here at the cusp of both one of the greatest accomplishments of his career and the hopeful resurrection of his greatest hero, he had bigger things to worry about. …Assuming it was Lord-General Visca that came back and didn’t murder him on the spot of his rebirth. He didn’t want to think about the alternative.
Ninety-Seven Percent. Vindicator’s synchronization process continued to work its way through the late Lord-General’s body, the very mana from within him igniting in its activation to accommodate the work of the Arcane Intelligence. It was always beautiful the way the light of the magic snaked its way through his veins, forming what were almost ley lines though out his form. As they finally connected to his cranium, the dimly lit markings of fel appeared as his eyes opened during his violent rebirth. His very flesh seemed to drink from the lines of his veins, but even still he struggled.
“Come on, Sir… we’re almost there…”
“You’re wasting your time.”
Ninety-Eight Percent. Vathelan did not bother to retort. They had but two percent to go, and then either history would be made or his fate was sealed. The Arcane energies erupted into a brilliant flash around the man in the vial’s skull as the energies traced through his veins, forking from the jugulars to up the temporal and the facial veins until they reconvened upon his oculars. Here a war of color waged for but a second… the sapphire brilliance that matched that within his veins would drown out the dim light of his Fel Taint during this synchronization process.
Ninety-Nine Percent. The Lord-General was now certainly awake, his sapphire eyes glaring from the waters of his current prison. His thrashing had stopped, thankfully, but such a boon would be short lived. The brilliance from his veins began to pulse with his heartbeat; the very air around them seemed to begin to tremble. Frostwhisper would have found this concerning, if it weren’t for a more alarming sound grabbing his attention: Something was grinding on something else, and it sounded like it was coming from the vial before him. He started to fiddle with the Glass Scroll in his hand in an attempt to run a quick diagnosis—but stopped himself when the cause became apparent, the very glass of the Visca sized Vial was cracking! The lights began to flicker…
ACTIVATION COMPLETE.
The trembling air would become deathly still for a mere moment, before an eruption of force emanated from the cracking vial. In a sheer burst of panic, the young Magister surged his mana into what he thought a nigh impenetrable shielding of ice. He sighed from his confines as he watched the glass cut into the barrier, leaving him safe. What he didn’t expect, however, was glowing and bloody fist to punch through the remaining portion of the barrier to grab at his throat. He had no time to prepare as he felt its death grip upon them and send him flying into the wall closest to them. The mist of the explosion may have censored the form of his attacker as his head hit the wall, the room going darker for a moment or two, but it did nothing to hide the burning energies in the man’s veins or his eyes. A voice long thought lost to the world at long last spoke once more; full of rage and hatred it echoed its first sentence from beyond the grave:
“Who are you and what have you done to me?”

The deteriorating elegance of the forgotten half of Silvermoon gave way to an enclosure large enough for an entire patrol barricaded away by wall of pulsating blue and purple that surrounded the young Magister. Better yet, for the time being, he was alone and free of the enchantment that had forced him to act against his will. It would not last long, he had little time. Taking this small advantage granted to him, he formed two shards of ice the size of daggers, one in each hand. He shifted into a basic but proper combat stance as he was taught in basic training, and awaited her apparition. As soon as he saw her form, he pounced into action.
The plan was simple: Attack while she adjusted to their new surroundings, remove her as a threat, then portal out of here before whatever lay outside this barrier was aware of what had transpired. He launched the shard of ice from his right hand, and before seeing if it hit its mark, he struck with his left. But in there laid the problem:
She was trained for combat, he was not.
She was quick to react, her body melting into the scenery around them, becoming incorporeal for a few seconds. Long enough for Vathelan’s two pronged attack to prove utterly useless, and to leave him open as she once again attached her mental strings around him and forced his body to contort in a painful manner to disarm him. His body twisted so unnaturally so fast that his muscles screamed at him, his back threatening to break from the force as he dropped his remaining ice shard from his hand before falling to his knees. Then came her retort, a backhanded slap with enough force that his glasses flew from his face.
As the four nails of her hand dragged on his face from the backswing he would hiss in pain, only for it to be accentuated as the barrier dropped and the cold air beyond it came to kiss at the stinging marks. Between the massive alteration in light and the lack of his oculars he may as well have been blind. He could hear the heavy footsteps of metal boots upon the ground before the sharp edges at his throat.
“Are you okay Lady Inquisitor?” A metallic sounding voice echoed near him.
“I’m fine. He simply had more fight left than I had expected. Restrain him, but do not hurt him. He’s needed… for now.”
“As you wish, Inquisitor.” The voice reverberated through the knight’s helm. Between the now encroaching darkness and the mere blurred shapes he could make out without his glasses, he could not tell just how many were there as they pulled him to his feet. They forced his arms out before shackling him in some heavy set of manacles, oddly enough seeming to cut the mana circulation from his arms. No matter, he would not try to fight them. He knew better, he was out manned and out classed. So long as he cooperated it seemed it may be possible for him to get out of this alive. Prove his worth, save his life. That would be the new plan.
They checked his restraints one last time before they shoved him forward, satisfied that he was secure. He still had no clue as to what their destination was, what they had planned for him to work on. And he knew better than to ask, none of them particularly seemed keen on answering questions. So he would have to try to figure it out himself. What were his clues? The Portal was not one that gave any indicator as to where they were going to go, coupled with the barrier that reminded him of the one reported to encircle Dalaran after The Fall, he felt it was safe to assume it was intentional that they didn’t want this location found. The deathly chill that permeated the area was another clue. A cold climate outside, likely remote as to not be found. He was practically blind right now, but the sound of these soldiers… perhaps this was some sort of military installation? His mind wandered, scanning what he had read in hopes of coming to a conclusion as to where he may be… So much so that he nearly kept walking into his escort when they halted their march. His brows furrowed as he listened in on mid-conversation.
“Are you sure about this, Inquisitor?” This voice too reverberated. Strange.
“We really haven’t a choice in the matter, I’m afraid. Raeventus has his orders, and now so do we.”
There was a sigh that echoed through the helm before it spoke once more. “Very well. Let them through.” Something powered down, Wards, if Vathelan had to guess. Then rumbling as what he had to guess were massive doors started opening. When the sound died down, the guardian of the door spoke up again. “…Speaking of that devil, it seems he wishes to speak with our guest.”
Magister Raeventus was here? That was a mild surprise, but it put things into perspective. The man had proven himself to become quite prominent since the death of Lord-General Visca. It would also explain why Inquisitor Dawn, his right hand, had been awaiting him… it also didn’t bode well for his chances of survival. He hadn’t the chance to reflect on that, however, as his thoughts were cut off as they shoved something within his ear, it was cold, unrelenting and of a peculiar shape.
“Good evening, Frostwhisper.” A voice emanated from the very object within his ear. It was as cold as the air that surrounded him. A dangerously calm fury, the malice on razor’s edge. “I trust you are found in gentle company in these last hours of the day?”
“M-magister Raeventus! I—“ Vathelan managed to choke out. Only to be cut off. They continued their march into a metal hall, reinforcing the Military Instillation theory. The clangs of metal boots were quieted for him during this conversation.
“Then you remember my name at least. Perhaps it is time to remind you of my position within our Organization, of who you work for.” He would continue before the young man had a chance to retort. “I am the Director of your department: Scryer Asset Protection and Acquisition. It is our job to ensure that the Scryers have the resources required to do what the Seer commands, not for you to play hero.”
“I never tried to pla—“
“You violated your Security Clearance. You committed forgery, for the express intent of removing a valuable asset from our arsenal. I could charge you with Treason, you know.”
“I enabled them to act while you and the Seer sat on your hands. And you could… if I wasn’t a member of the Order.” He corrected Raeventus. “We are under Emergency War Protocols, we are outside your jurisdiction.”
“Brave words coming from someone in your position, Frostwhisper.” There was an audible sneer in the voice. “You seem to quickly forget you are surrounded by my men, in a place you cannot be found. You are very much ‘In my Jurisdiction’ right now. And I would advise against trying my patience, you insolent little shit. One word and I can have you executed or re-educated on the spot, whichever it is I feel like at the moment.”
“Then… why am I still alive?” The patrol halted in front of one of these doors. Vathelan was quick to add a, “not that I am complaining of course.”
“When you went behind my back, the Council took notice. They want Project Shattered Son to come to fruition, in spite of the short time we have had to ensure he is secure and stable for use… they want their Weapon against the Legion. But I will not risk my own Faithful men and women within my service, so… if you wanted him activated so badly, then I will give you the honor. If he kills you, then Good Riddance.”
‘The Council’? He did not know of what council that Raeventus could be speaking of. The only one that came to mind is what Lady… It couldn’t be, she couldn’t be in on this, could she? To be so power hungry for her husband’s position to do… this? But he would have to consider this another time, for something of more immediacy was brought to his attention. The sound of a ward before them being brought down… The Shattered Son… His shackles were being removed from his arms as Vathelan responded. “…I see… So I am Expendable to you then?”
“You went behind my back, you tried to play the game… and you lost Vathelan.”
“But with risking my life, you are activating Him to fight the Legion, correct?”
“I’m glad you can hear me.”
“…Then I graciously accept. If this is my part in history, then I will gladly play it.” There was a firm resolution in his voice. He was no hero; he was just a man who was in the right place at the right time who made a choice. He was handed two items from Inquisitor Dawn, a new Glass Scroll that had read outs of the Shattered Son’s vitals and his glasses. He put them on, his face determined as he stepped into the dark room… across the spacious hall floated a giant of a man in a vial attached to medical equipment. He played the game, he had won. “Arcane Intelligence Designation: Vindicator, began activation of Weapon: Shattered Son.”

Here within the realm of Quel’thalas, the world seemed almost at peace. It had its own problems, to be sure; but if one did not know what was going on to the south or the western continent of Kalimdor, one may be able to remain blissfully unaware of the horrors awaited outside the boundaries of the enchanted lands of eternal spring. The relative peace was enough to allow Magister Vathelan Frostwhisper to slip within his own private reality as he gently rode his Hawkstrider towards the domain of his sworn Lord. He could not help but feel the swell of pride, his grin quite prominent as his eyes looked upon the fortified Visca Manor. He had made his small mark in history, while by no means a man of valor himself… he had enable the Order of Eversong to be reactivated and granted the freedom to move as necessary. With their help, he felt a certain optimism that Azeroth would once more find a way to continue living as they had every crisis past. And when proven right, he would get that date… his first one, actually.
“Ah it was about time for you to show up, Frostwhisper.”
His hands started to grip at the reigns of his Hawkstrider as his heart threatened to stop even if for but a mere moment. His throat felt dry in the sense of dread from hearing that voice, “Inquisitor, what an… unexpected surprise, madam.”
Her head cocked, the twisted amusement playing upon her lips. Her dagger finished its deft work within her hand, cleaning the tiny talons that adorned each of her slender fingers. “Oh Vathelan, why the sudden grimace?” She removed meager weight from the wall as she strode towards him, closing the gap and revealing her ebon robes that marked her position within his organization. “A lady could get the wrong ideas, dear… one may feel… unwanted.”
The young Magister continued to stare at his Lord’s home, he was so close. For a moment he considered making a break for it, until he felt the biting of what felt like five tiny daggers sinking into his flesh through his robes and into the flesh of his leg. Her command was simple. “Off.” He bit back any verbal response, rewarding him an even tighter grip before he nodded vigorously, quick to comply as he slipped from his saddle. “Good Boy. Now, into the building.”
“But what of my Ha—“
“INTO. The. Building.”
He would comply, not protesting any further as he limped until they were within the shambles of a once proud structure of the people of Quel’thalas. He couldn’t recall what this one was, but he was concerned on other matters. “What of my Hawkstrider?” He asked again, now that his leg was free from her torment.
“It will be fine. If it is smart enough, it will wander back towards the Manor and be found.”
“But what of the Wretched? Or the Manor’s defenses? Even if it is found and stored away properly, do you not think it will raise concerns? Do you not think they will question what happ--”
It took but a small gesture from the Inquisitor, quite done with his blabbering, the tips of her fingers giving but a trace of shadow magic to ensure silence as she scanned the exterior of the ruined building they were in and towards the Manor that loomed across the way from them. Satisfied that they were not seen, she turned her attention back towards the Magister and the business at hand. It had seemed that he had found her dirty work, the five lifeless Wretched that laid before their feet spread about this common room. “My apologies about the mess, Frostwhisper, they were not inclined to share their abode. Even for our brief stay.”
The young man could was trapped in this deteriorating structure, voiceless at the mercy of such a cruel woman. His lungs filled with air, his emerald eyes wide behind his glasses. He tried to force himself to scream, trying to break her spell upon him through a sheer force of will. It did nothing. His feet shakily moved to back away from her as she approached. He nearly tripped on one of the corpses, its contorted face staring back at him. She had shown her hand, her malice more than evident. He regained his footing, preparing a trembling combat stance. If he was going to die, he would do his heroes proud. He started to draw the mana from his core through his arms and to his fingertips—only to have his hopes of defending himself shattered by her laughter, his body acting against his will.
The dark energies snaked around the Inquisitor’s slender fingers as they moved as to pull the invisible strings of her new marionette. Oh she was certain that he would have some choice words in protest, but she had already taken care of that little problem. Her eyes glinted with a sense of joy as she approached close, she gave a small tug to force him to bow low enough for her lips to grace his ear. She spoke in nothing above a whisper, enjoying herself immensely. “You are so adorable when you look at me like that, Frostwhisper. And I do so wish we could continue our fun little dance, but we have an appointment to attend to.” She forced his face to move where she could lock eyes upon his as the hand that did not hold his leash gently tapped upon a button upon her attire. Only then did her hungry eyes look away and towards deeper into the building. Frostwhisper was at last allowed to stand once more, before making an about face towards a newly formed gateway of a portal before them. “Come now, Darling, we mustn’t be late~”
Each compulsory step towards this gateway exacerbated his sense of dread. Each step was a testament to his powerlessness, her total domination over him. Each step felt like an eternity, and by the time they reached the gateway, he had come to accept his fate. As they crossed the borders and into an unknown domain that would quickly remove any trace of its existence, the Order of Eversong would be robbed of their faithful Magister and Servant, Vathelan Frostwhisper.
“I’m going to die.”

This is Magister Vathelan Frostwhisper and this is my Fifth report. Those who have access to my reports may notice that there is a lapse between entries longer than usual, to the point that it may even be considered unacceptable given my current position and the importance of the mission given to me. But given that I have yet to have any response to my Intel listed within my last report, I was forced to take initiative. I have been quite busy. With the arrival of the Burning Legion, just as you were warned, it is time to come clean of my activities in hopes that we can use this to our advantage. We are going to need every one of those we can gain in the upcoming campaign.
First was the matter of House Visca’s alarming overflow of paperwork. I have mentioned this before, and it may seem a minor point given the threat before us; but I will impress upon you the importance of having precise records of what resources we have available to tap into, where our resources are being dedicated, what expenditures are owed and what we can do to be that much more efficient. A daunting task, for it was no small feat given the entire backlog from what was previous of our intervention, but a task that as of the date of this report is complete. I have ensured that everything has been filed and fulfilled in its entirety. Furthermore, I have checked for any potential discrepancies in all Visca accounts and staffing personnel files. The last thing we need is for a Dreadlord to somehow sneak its way into our Manor to slit our throats in our sleep and then fire our weapons at wholly unintended targets thanks to a little negligence. After I was satisfied with the accuracy of each member of our staff and the family that they have brought with them to be placed under our protection, I have issued them keys to facilities fitting of their duty and security clearance. This was vital to the operation of the Estate as we have convinced the Arcane Intelligence Project Vigil to activate the Order of Eversong’s Emergency War Protocols.
You have read that right; there is no error in this record. As I am sure you will find out who it was who granted them Scryer Authorization in order to do so. And you know what Seer Voren’thal, Magister Raeventus? I stand by this decision. The Burning Legion has returned. They have begun their full scale invasion upon Azeroth, I have read multiple reports on what happened at the Broken Shore. If this is not considered an Emergency, the very basis for the reason Why the EWPs were developed, to become active once more, then I know not what definition you use. I did not sign on to the Scryers, to leave a promising career as a Magister of Silvermoon, to sit idly by. This was not what ideals we were founded upon. This is not what Lord-General Draco Gladius Visca would have approved of! We must rally and use our resources in order to save our people. And I think that Lord-General Rayfeather has a great deal of potential to make a fine successor to the legacy left to him, I think he will do Visca proud. And from the sound of it, he will not be alone. Lord Cerryan Vyel and the homecoming Lady Ronyo Visca are talking about forming a council of the three of them to support one another in these times. I am unsure if this lacks ulterior motives, nor if this viable given the point of the Lord-General position is to enable the leader to act independent and free of any hinderance… I fear that three of them talking about every decision will slow them down, weakening the Order when immediate action is required. But we shall see if these concerns are valid, it is not like there are not alternative methods should such occur anyways.
And I will continue to enable them to the best of my ability. I may not be a hero, someone with the mastery of blade or bow… But I can support them with my knowledge and ability to apply it off the field and in the more mired areas such as the courts. I believe that now that the call has come, that once more, the Order of Eversong shall rise to the challenge and prove to be something invaluable in the defense and survival of our people, state… and perhaps even the World. If you do not approve of my actions, then I apologize, but I will remind you that now that the Emergency War Protocols are active, we act as an independent organization, we are outside of your control for now. Should you, at the end of this all, still believe me wrong—should you wish me court marshaled, then I shall greet such with my head held high for I have done the right thing. I have enabled the Order, our heroes, to act again. I have ensured that they can make history as they have in the past… I hope Lord-General Visca would have been proud of me.
Signed,
Magister Vathelan Frostwhisper
Faithful Member of the Order of Eversong

This is Magister Vathelan Frostwhisper, and this is my Fourth Report. I have made contact with the enemy. We have less than a year before the Burning Legion invades Azeroth in earnest once more. We are quickly running out of time, we must act before it is too late-- if it is not already. They have been planning this for quite some time, while we have been too busy on other affairs.
And we have been busy, this is true. And they were worthy causes, a civil war to stop our Prince from leading us to a path of ruin, finally bringing justice to Arthas in the Northrend campaign, our securing of Outland resources and developing a failsafe should Deathwing triumph over the divided Azeroth… the attempts to keep war from escalating out of hand after the Theramore Incident, our responses to the Dalaran Massacre… but to think we have been so blind to this… “Nala’quoreem” Insurgency…
But I am sure those that read this will require proof. And much to my dismay, I know how… delusional this all sounds. I had come thinking that I was to merely witness a breakthrough of technological advancement that we could secure to gain an advantage for our future endeavours: an Orc by the alias of a Mister “Nock” had developed a way to access other planes of reality, namely the Emerald Dream. Both the organizations of Sanctuary and Borrowed Time had convened for such a meeting… little did I know they had other plans. Instead of testing the device in a methodical approach, they decided we were going to immediately use it in order to view for any corruption upon the other side. It seems that even here has been tainted, and I may be able to secure readouts for this from a contact if given privileges to promise certain legal concessions-- and this intel may prove highly valuable to the right people should we wish to pursue; but that is the low on the priority list.
Because it is what happened next that proved… strange. From my understanding, the device was hacked and we were teleported into grave danger. We were dragged into the Twilight Realm, and this is where I was able to make contact with the enemy. A demon, a Nathrezim if I were to make a guess, who had presumably been the one to do such an act. The gathered group seemed intent on violence, despite my better judgement. If we were to be on an intelligence mission, would it not be best to find out what they had planned rather than assault the demon in its home realm? But alas, I am but one man and they were many… conflict broke out, and yet I stayed my hand. An unpopular decision, I am sure… but I understood the parameters better than they did it seemed. After the demon was able to banish them (And no one was hurt from what I could tell) I was able to manipulate the demon into a conversation in which it seemed willing to give me a few key details:
They have been laying groundwork (Or as the demon corrected me to “Overkill”) for decades, at least since the third war… though that only indicates a little over such a year, perhaps time flows differently for the Legion than us?
This “Quorum” serves as some sort of scouting party and insurgency team for the Burning Legion
They have been manipulating us, to fight amoungst ourselves, warping both our minds and bodies in order to ensure our weakness
We have less than a year before we are invaded in earnest.
Afterwards, I had to prove myself not a Nathrezim when I too was banished from the realm of Twilight-- leaving that demon there to her own devices, something we should see about fixing-- and then I had to reveal my purpose within Sanctuary in order to regain their trust. They now know, I am there to assess them. And that the Scryers are interested in making a partnership in order to continue our work of preservation and salvation of our people.
Another note of interest, I met with Dora Arath’dorei’s mother… the veteran Sinlanna Arath’dorei. She desires to have me over for a conversation at some point. I feel, given the gravity of this situation, that I may be able to convince her to aide us and perhaps re-enlist. I am not alone in the notion that just like after the Theramore Incident, we must consider reactivating the Order of Eversong. We’re going to need all the help we can get, and these heroes have proven time and time again to turn the tides of war in our favor… not that at this point, that Grandmaster Rayfeather nor Lord Cerryan Vyel-Visca will be awaiting our permission for very long… if we do not act, there will be no tether to keep them within Scryer control. And we know how well that ended for Lord-General Visca.

Magister Vathelan Frostwhisper, Third Report.
I will first state, on the record, that I am concerned in regards of the lack of communication since my intelligence report on the Demonic Threat. Is the leadership not concerned? Are my reports not getting through? I cannot be certain of either… But I digress, for I have more to report.
First is regarding person of interest: Dora Arath’dorei. I went upon the agreed upon hunting trip within Sholazar Basin-- which proved to grant me some interesting insights. First, is that in spite of her usual demeanor, she has exhibited a level of expertise that I did not expect from one of my age. I understand a lot of theoretical techniques, but until this day… I had never been able to apply them in a practical scenario outside of a laboratory. Between her marksmanship, her command over powerful beasts and mechanical-technology armaments… I feel she could make an excellent ally if we use the diplomatic approach. There was a slight snag, in which an unexpectant combatant attacked, but the threat was neutralized and I was able to increase my standing. Afterwards we went to celebrate and get to know each other better, it seems she has inherited the desirable traits we want in our agents from her parents. Should she ever decide to join our Organization… I would whole heartedly send in my recommendation.
The second order of business is in regards of Grandmaster Rayfeather. He seems aware that something is wrong with his access to what the Vigil Project will grant him. Even worse, I think he suspects that I may know more than I am telling, given my close approximation to those minds who created it during my assignment on the Nethergate Base. We should not underestimate him, Magister Raeventus-- I feel it is only a matter of time before he finds a way to work around this obstacle. He is a clever man and was selected by the Lord-General for a reason.

This is Magister Vathelan Frostwhisper, Second Report.
I had intended to provide a status report and further assessment about the asset listed within my previous entry. This, it seems, will have to wait however. As the new data I have compiled for this report has proven far too pertinent to be delayed, even if it deviates from my optimal standards of both thought process and communication. We are at risk of Demonic Insurgency, and eventually Invasion.
I was privy to a meeting between the organization of interest Sanctuary and their allies called the “Twilight Empire” (Note: It would be wise to investigate them as well, if Sanctuary proves of worth for our operations, we may be able to use their allies to spread our influence into the Alliance.) on a matter of assaulting a ‘White Hound Industries’ that distributes and we suspect produces a drug known as Wreave from Booty Bay in the Strangletorn Bay region of the Eastern Kingdoms (Note2: We should investigate this drug in hopes of being able to counter it now and any attempts of it being used in the future.) This proved to be a wealth of information and an alarm at how uninformed we are with the loss of the Lord-General. To list what I have learned from this meeting:
1. There have been two Dreadlord sightings, One within the Tauren Grimtotem tribe and another who has directly struck at Sanctuary. One has been stuck down, though we have records of how resilient this species can be. The two sighted operate differently, so it is unlikely to be the same individual. At least one is reportedly immune to the power of the Holy Light.
2. This Wreave drug is suspected to be another operation of the Dreadlords. Interestingly enough, the cult named The Grim has volunteering to develop an antitoxin to combat this, as is a female gnome in Ironforge. Both are suspect, but their efforts are worth investigating—even if to prepare for an attempted weaponization of such.
3. There is a new breed of demon discovered. The description is… convoluted, which is unfortunate but possibly to be expected from a Human. They seem to be spawning from addicts of this drug, but “don’t act or look like demons”. They seem to cannibalize other species of demons, are able to dissipate, their wounds warp their victims—they seem weak to Sunlight and Lunar influence. We have an illustration of these creatures; it is attached to this report. They known as ‘Tin-Dalos’, which translates to Hound in some unidentified language, apparently.
4. There was a magical plague called the Silver Sickness, it was believed that the source was found and then destroyed. This was either an incorrect assessment or this is a new strain. There was mention of a relation to ley lines, nothing else was offered or elaborated on this subject.
5. Sinlanna, which I suspect is to be the same as listed in the previous report, seems to be working with this investigation as well. She found notes from a man named Anters, who is considered dead—and yet shot the cousin of the leader of the group that came to the meeting from the Twilight Empire. I am requesting access to these notes. Both as a means of finding out more about this growing conspiracy for a lead and as a means of getting closer to our potential asset and her mother.
6. The Twilight Empire is over confident in their security from such insurgencies from the Dreadlords, I suspect this will make them an easy target.
As I review the data acquired, I am seeing similar patterns from recent history. These tactics Have been seen before by the Burning Legion during the Third War. We must be both vigilant and proactive in our defense against this, as it may very well be the key to our survival. I need to speak to Commander Juliliee Liene and Grandmaster Faelenor Rayfeather about these events as we consider our best course of action…

Hello to whoever has accessed these records. As this is my first report, and I am currently stationed as an advisor and assistant to Lord Cerryan Vyel of House Visca, I do suppose a quick introduction is in order before I get down to business.
My name is Vathelan Frostwhisper. I am, at the time of this documentation am a newly minted Magister who has finally been accepted into the ranks of the Scryers. I was rejected once before due to my lack of experience and health concerns. At least one of these is gone; I will let you guess as it is irrelevant to the current task at hand. I joined in hopes of working side by side to the heroes of the Civil War and the tip of our blade in the Northrend Campaign. It isn’t… exactly as I have hoped it to be. Lord-General Visca is dead, the Order of Eversong has become nothing more than a faint shadow of what it was supposed to be, the current Grandmaster seems to find it amusing to attempt to torment me… and Lord Cerryan while for the most part living up to the ideals that he is described of being a paragon of, is… incredibly irresponsible—hence my current station.
And the first topic of my report. There was a bachelorette auction in Dalaran, of which I have misgivings of—it being slavery at worst and an escort service at best; one my assignment, Lord Cerryan, had chosen to attend in spite of our concerns of how the estate is being handled. Cerryan Vyel successfully spent 41,000 gold in total at this event. He claims that 15,000 of it was from his own pocket book, and the subject may prove of interest (More of that later), but this is not the disturbing part of this. No. Lord Cerryan Vyel of House Visca attempted to spend 200,000 of this on a woman named “Shaelie”. Before I continue, I feel the need to explain just how dire this is: This Shaelie woman looks worse than some of the homeless I have seen in my time in the Lower City of Shattrath where I have been propositioned by females who had better hygiene. She looks… worse than I ever did, as if she had been half starved before becoming s group of golbins’ whore for a week before immediately deciding to walk upon this stage. And her manners! Cerryan is now Head of House to a very old and prestigious family that has served our family—one whose bloodline may not be extinct as we are still unable to locate his offspring from before his fall. TWO HUNDERED THOUSAND GOLD. This is enough to supply an entire minor operation such as freeing our men and women whom were Not Slaughtered by Proudmoore and are still unlawfully detained within the Violet Hold. Of which Lord Vyel has agreed to move Sanctuary Headquarters to, mind you. These two factors are making me wonder if we may very well need to audit House Visca and claim the assets for ourselves as well as require Vyel to undergo a Psychological Evaluation.
But… perhaps I am being too hasty in my concerns. Either way, we may want to consider enlisting at least a singular agent to serve as an armed guard. There was a Male Troll who was allowed to sexually harass Cerryan Vyel while the guards did nothing.
But, as promised, the person of interest Lord Cerryan may have wisely purchased… as degrading as it was to write that. Her name is Dora Arath’dorei. Does the last name strike any familiarities? It should. For she is the Daughter of not One, but Two former members of our Homefront Branch: Sinlanna Arath’dorei and… Naheal Malastar, the late Lord-General Draco Gladius Visca’s Second Apprentice. This should either be a cause for concern as to Lord Cerryan’s Tastes or an impossibility in of itself… but here is the thing: She is about my age, apparently via Bronze Dragonflight influence. Which, while difficult to wrap my mind around the specifics, makes her all that much more incredible! A lovely and energetic woman, she has taken an interest in me… or at least our work, and I do understand the need for prudence here, and may give me a means of access to two people that have for far too long been out of our line of sight. There is much to discuss with them, and perhaps they may gives us some new clues on some of our resources that we are attempting to tap into. If not, well, perhaps I can charm the woman into joining our cause?
Her mother still has one of the Order Emblems which will allow her to get in contact with me, as she wants to take me… Hunting of all things. I’m unsure as to how I feel about this arrangement, as I have never even touched a bow before. But it does grant me an opportunity to see her again. Something I am very much looking forward to.
Memo: Look into files and research relating to the following:
1. Theories of Time Manipulation
2. A Phyruss Arath’dorei/Malastar
3. Tips for hunting for beginners
4. General Outdoor Survival Techniques
5. How to talk to women

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